This song always chokes me up – that’s just who I am and what I believe in. But watching my son and 119 other Kindergarteners sing and sign* it, well, excuse me while I get the dust out of my eyes.
__________
*They signed all 8 songs they sang. His school is also a dedicated special needs school and therefore teaches sign language to all students so every child there can converse with one another regardless of how each communicates.
Story of my life.
If I were to write a Dr. Seuss-esque book it would be called “The Weeks Are Long, The Weekends Are Short.” Followed by the line, “My eyes are red, I have nothing to report.”
I’ve been up to my eyeballs in work, commuting and work with a side of commuting and everywhere you look around here is the sight of pure neglect. *blows dust off blog*
A few completely random thoughts (they wouldn’t be mine if they were organized) I’ve collected somewhere in the empties of my brain over the last week or two:
If there’s ever a shortage of salad (not lettuce mind you, but salad as a whole) you can, with clear conscience, blame Santa Monica. I’m on a steady diet of salad from This Place or salad from That Place because apparently all there is to eat in Santa Monica is salad. Even when the company orders in pizza for everyone, there it is: SALAD! and everyone, brainwashed to gravitate toward the green stuff is like OOOOH! I’ll take some of that SALAD! Oh and there’s pizza? That’s cool. I guess.
But no, I’m not any skinnier so… yeah. Um. What the hell? FAULTY SALAD. That’s what.
I drive 51 miles to work and 51 miles back home. In traffic. In – essentially – Los Angeles. This is the equivalent of your dad telling you he had to walk to and from school every day, barefoot, in the snow, uphill. For 51 miles. It’s a gorgeous, photogenic coastal drive but the amount stupid driving on the road is insurmountable. Through my extensive research I can tell you the pricier the car, the dumber the driver in this particular area. But get behind a work truck or a bus and you’re golden. I know the rhythms. Got them down pat. But when someone, usually a tourist who’s gawking at the ocean like “Oooh! Water! It’s wet! Soooo prettttty! I’ll just drive by really sllooowwwllly rather than pull the fuck over and actually touch it!” decides to cruise instead of drive and messes up the commuters’ patterns, god help them.
I need a megaphone – please and thank you. Have you any idea how many times a day I have to tell someone they’re the worst driver EVER? Huh, son?
But I’m not an angry driver. I’m just a vocal one. Ahem.
In other random news, the boys begged me to add “Draw Something” to their iPads. So if you’re one of the lucky ones receiving random, fucked up drawings of “fog,” I’m sorry and you’re welcome. At least they’re not one of those assholes who just write the answer and submit it to you. (WHAT’S WRONG WITH THOSE PEOPLE?)
At first this was so much work, playing this game with the boys. ["Mom, how do you spell 'pregnant'?" Um... *shifty eyes*] But now it’s our cool little way of staying in touch when they’re not with me. We pass loving notes back-and-forth before each drawing like the one above from my 9 year old. *cough* And, I have the added benefit of knowing when certain little shits have taken their iPads to bed with them when they weren’t supposed to. Oh, I have a particular little 7 year old who’s waiting on my drawing at 11 pm? GUESS WHO IS LOSING THEIR PRIVILEGES?
This is parenting in twenty-twelve, people.
He made his first basket at the very last game of the season. It happened so fast I couldn’t even register what was happening until it had already happened and before the cheering and the yelling and the “YEAH BUDDY’s” could escape me, the tears already were.
I’m not ashamed to be that mom. I’m lucky to be her.
Those two points rippled through that gym, sending a wave of emotion through parents and teammates who hardly know him. Strangers on their feet screaming. The assistant coach, already limping from an injury, ran up and down the court high-fiving anyone and everyone, screaming like it were his own son. The ref who had spent the entire season blowing the whistle at traveling, calling fouls and trying to get the boys to stay out of the key for too long came over to tell him how proud he was of him.
It was never about being the best; it was about getting his moment.
He got his moment. And he was at his very best.
I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with pride. Not just by his two points but by the boy who gets teased for being the short guy on the court. For the boy who understands his position in the game better than anyone but doesn’t always get passed the ball. For the boy who, when I asked later “Are you proud of yourself?” replied humbly, “Maybe.”
Be proud, dude. For this, for everything, for being who you are.
The five year old is having girl problems at school. As in, too many “grills” are chasing him around at recess. “They won’t weave me awone.”
Shoot me now.
At first, as a parent, you selfishly smile as though this – this Kindergarten dilemma as told by a five year old – means something big and telling, like your kid who you always knew was handsome as hell MUST REALLY BE – like, in the eyes of others.
Fine, in the eyes of other five year olds.
Big T wasn’t convinced we were receptive to his angsty problem so he got on my level by dropping a Jay-Z lyric to relate. You know the one. Let’s just say if he finds one more of these little problems to chase him around at lunch, I won’t need to provide 100 of something on the hundredth day celebration at school.
Apparently the problem is real though. A little girl has allegedly gone all Axe-commercial on my son, pushing him up against a wall. (Damn, girl. What’s high school gonna be like for you?) Parents and teachers have gotten involved and I am like HOLY FUCKING KINDERGARTEN, this is ridiculous, but yes, he is cute, isn’t he?
Last night, Big T broke it down, explaining why his problem is all because of us, his parents. “It’s because you make me shower every night and I just. smell. so. good.”
Huh.
So the moral of the story is mommas don’t bathe your sons? Or have I simply learned that my son is the second coming of the Old Spice Man? [I'm on the slide. Now I'm on the monkey bars. WITHOUT USING MY HANDS!] I’d like to think the latter.
No matter, let’s be honest: the important thing is that Big T has learned early on that pimpin’ ain’t easy. Now to teach him how it sho’ can be fun….
HEY. Sometimes we relate better via Jay-Z lyrics. You stick with your duct-tape parenting methods and I’ll go with mine, ok?
At different times in my life I have measured success in varying ways. A good grade in school, seeing my writing published, a win on eBay, getting married, getting divorced, the fire department arriving in time, having healthy children, an interview gone well, buying a home, finding the perfect gift for someone, hearing the word “benign,” not throwing up when I was thisclose, finding the little black dress…
I told you it has varied.
I have made lists to add up my successes and lists to cross them off. I’ve celebrated them quietly and sometimes alone and also loudly and pompously with friends. I have prematurely claimed success when it wasn’t success at all and I have completely failed to note successes when they have sat right here beside me; their legs intertwined with mine.
Lately, with even more change on the horizon, I’m trying to re-examine what success means for me. I am reminding myself to find success in smaller moments too; to allow myself that sense of accomplishment in the finer chunks of time that, in hindsight, carry just as much importance.
If not more.
A little over a week ago, success was in the face of my nine year old son who saw his Pac-Man cake for the first time. This past week, it was managing to take care of very sick boys while being sick myself. Saturday night, it was having the boys sit on the couch and over-analyze the UFC fights with me. Today, it won’t only be in starting a new job, but in letting go of the guilt that goes with it.
There is so much change. And for someone who struggles with the very idea of change, I will count each and every one of my accomplishments – huge and ridiculously small – giving myself credit for every moment I acknowledge and embrace as I face each new thing that comes our way.
This, I hope, is success.
Nine years ago you changed my life completely. Nine. I choke on that word. I can’t believe how grown up you are.
Nine years ago, you gave my life an entirely new purpose, filled it with meaning that has kept me strong in weaker times and began teaching me the difference between what’s important and what can wait. I realize it’s my job to teach you, but the truth is, you’ve taught me even more. You’ve taught me about love and gratitude, about Japanese Zeroes and the solar system, about building forts, beating Mario Bros. levels and compassion.
I keep telling people that you’re really coming into your own lately. But that’s not true. You’ve always known who you are – even at a very young age. You’re stubborn, incredibly smart, logical, have a sarcastic wit about you, the gears always turning, a fantastic brother, a natural leader and a sweet, old soul who is wise beyond your years. But lately, you’ve grown more sure of yourself, gained a bit of much needed confidence and the dimples that have returned to your cheeks make me so very proud.
I am extremely proud of you.
I know. It’s not cool for me to say it. You don’t like to hear it. But it’s important that I tell you anyway.
And E, I know this has been a rough year or so. You have been so strong and helpful and honest. I love that. I owe you the same. So just know that while I can’t always get you everything you want, I promise to give you everything you need.
I love you E-man. Happy, happy birthday.
Love,
Mom
______________________
*Song: The White Buffalo’s “The Pilot”
I just couldn’t decide between the MERRY! JOY! FA-LA-LA-LA-LAH! EVERYTHING IS BLISS! type holiday card or one that was… well, us.
Just like I always tell my boys, honesty is the best policy.
Wishing you and your families happiness, health & most of all: patience this holiday season.
Love,
Megan & the dudes
“Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.” — Larry Wilde
I’ll be honest. I kind of fretted over this Charlie Brown-sized Christmas tree. I fret over a lot of things these days – some warranted, but most things not so much. In all honestly, this little three-and-a-half-foot tree was what the boys wanted. It’s what they picked out. They were proud that they could pick it up themselves. (“See?! I can lift it!” Followed immediately by demonstrating their ability to throw it too.)
Well, okay. If that’s what they really wanted.
Truthfully, it would be easier for me too. It would fit better in the apartment, it would be easier to keep from falling and it would be easier to haul out to the trash the day after. So we bought it. They decorated it in two minutes flat. One box of lights was enough to light it up. And, embarrassingly, it wouldn’t take eight thousand gifts beneath it to make it look like the Christmases they are used to. “You know, when you guys weren’t divorced and everything was still normal” as they often reference.
It stings.
For the first time since the separation my youngest screamed and cried to go to his dad’s house instead of stay with me. Arms straight out, crying for his dad not to leave him, me trying to put him back in his bed and not be completely broken right then, right there in front of him, so incredibly hurt as his father reassured him that he would get to come ‘home’ in two days.
But this is his home too, I thought. This apartment, a fucking nice apartment at that, is his home too. They have beds and books and toys and clothes and everything they need here. They live here too.
After finally getting him settled down and asleep I padded back out to the living room, feeling completely shattered, only to see that little Christmas tree still cheerfully lit. I wanted to throw it away. Just pick it up and throw it as far as I could. I shook my head, the lights blurring. Was it just an apartment-sized Christmas tree and not a home-sized one? Is that why the boys wanted a little one? Because they would have a ‘real’ one at ‘home?’ I yanked the plug from the wall and the lights went dim.
A day or two later I came across a quote I’d seen years ago about not worrying about the size of your Christmas tree because in the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall. I looked back at the photos I took of them choosing their tree. They were so proud to pick out that tree; it was all theirs to decorate and do as they pleased with it. And I realized that this apartment is no different. It might not be where they started out their childhood, but it’s where they’re also growing up and it is their home. It’s theirs to live in and play in. They got to help pick it out and decorate it and make it their own too. And it’s just going to take a little while for them to see how lucky they are to have two places to call home.
It's so easy even an Undomestic Diva can do it! Ha. Truthfully: Y'all know I can't cook or bake (hi, Mr. Fireman) and I am not the least bit artistic yet I can fake a fondant cake. It's no Charm City creation – that's for sure. But it's good enough for my boys and that's my target audience. And if I can do it? You can.
I set out to make a Jack Skellington cake for L-Dub's 7th birthday because Nightmare Before Christmas is his absolute most favorite movie ever. Ever, EVER.
Print out a detailed photo or make a sketch of your idea. You will need to know what you're doing before you do it so you don't over or under buy fondant and so you make enough cake, etc.
Bake yo' cakes. You will need A LOT MORE cake than you think. Because you will waste A LOT MORE cake than you will want to admit. Here I baked six 9" inch round cakes.
If you're stacking cakes, you will need to 'top' the cakes… make them level by cutting the rounded tops off. You can buy a saw-like tool to do this but honestly, I have one and it's easier to use one of these long serrated cake knives.
Icing is your glue. Before stacking your cakes, spread a blob-o-icing on each cake except your top cake.
Stack your cakes, trying to make sure they don't lean to one side or another. For stability, you can add dowels (or cheap trick: kabob skewers) after you've cover your cake in fondant.
Add your top cake with the smooth side up for easier crumb coating. (More on that in a few!)
Carve your cake. I needed a sort-of round cake (think pumpkin-shaped) so I took that same serrated cake knife and started carving. Yes, it will look like a mess but you're not done so don't be discouraged.
Here's where you start seeing ALL THAT BAKING go to waste as you cut away a ton of cake you won't need. (Tip: save your cake scraps in case you need to 'piece' together shapes or missing chunks later.)
Carefully move your cake from your messy area to its final destination (plate/platter/cardboard wrapped in foil is awesome for bigger, heavier cakes). Yes, it will get messy but you can easily wipe away crumbs, icing, etc.
Ice your cake. This is what is referred to as crumb coating since it will not look pretty and smooth — it will have crumbs mixed into the icing and be messy. That's ok. It won't be seen. Put an even layer of icing around your entire cake. (Tip: Put store-bought icing in microwave for 10 seconds before using to make it easier to slather on.)
Make room in the fridge! Very carefully put your cake in the fridge after crumb coating for a solid hour. It will make it easier for you to smooth on the fondant.
Make sure you clean a large, smooth surface. No rogue crumbs (crumbs now become the enemy!), no bumps or grooves, etc. This is where you're going to roll out your fondant.
You can spend a bajillion dollars in the one baking aisle at Michael's with all their nifty tools. HOWEVER, if you're like me and lacking a bajillion dollars, you can make do with only buying a few of those tools and faking it with a few items you already have around the house. These are a few tools & ingredients you will definitely need for the next steps.
Fondant: I have made my own (marshmallow), bought the Wilton brand (I do NOT recommend) and this time, tried the new line by Charm City Cake's Duff at Michael's and was very pleased. It was extremely easy to use. (Tip: You can dye fondant use gel colors HOWEVER if you need a color like red or black I highly recommend buying fondant already dyed in that color.)
Fondant rolling pin: Your wooden rolling pin isn't long, smooth or heavy enough. It's worth the investment.
Cornstarch: A must-have. This keeps the fondant from sticking to everything from your counter to your hands to the rolling pin.
Crisco shortening: Good to have on hand if you end up needing to work with the fondant more than a few times. Cornstarch can dry it out and a touch of Crisco on your hands while kneading the fondant will help bring moisture back into it. (I found I didn't need it with the Duff brand fondant.)
Piping gel: Depends on your project and what detail you will need to add but a good idea for details smaller than fondant can handle.
Fondant smoother: Helps smooth fondant/remove air when you apply it on cake.
Wilton decorating tools: You can skip these if you want, but I find them really helpful especially the more cakes I do. (Using one of those Michael's coupons… good deal.)
This is what 4lbs of white buttercream fondant looks like – straight out of the tub. It's hard and unpliable. Read the directions on the tub – microwaving as directed will make your life much easier. Trust me. ;)
Remember how I said cornstarch will keep fondant from sticking to what you don't want it to? Super important. Sprinkle a bunch all over the surface where you're about to roll out the fondant.
Spread out the cornstarch – leaving no area untouched, including the rolling pin you're going to use.
This is two pounds of fondant.
And this is four pounds. Doesn't look all that different, does it? I show you this because it's imperative to know that fondant doesn't go far. It seems ludicrous to put FOUR POUNDS! of fondant on a cake but a) you're going to and b) a lot of people peel it off anyway. (And yes, after ALL THIS WORK people will peel it off and just eat the cake beneath it. Know this.
Knead the fondant until it's smooth and pliable.
Roll out the fondant on your cornstarched surface, careful to spread in as round of a shape as possible. This is harder than you think, but, you will not want to have to start over because you end up with a weird shape of fondant that doesn't cover your cake on all sides. The moment the fondant starts sticking to the rolling pin, re-cornstarch it. CORNSTARCH IS YOUR FRIEND!
This will be your biggest challenge: Picking up the fondant to carry and lay it over your cake. Fondant is a) heavy and b) stretches when you lift it and c) is an asshole. Drape it over your rolling pin and be sure your cake is very close by.
If your fondant cracks/breaks/falls apart guess what? You get to start over. Knead, roll out and try again. It always takes me a few tries and several F-bombs.
If you don't look like this by this point, you should go into the fondant cake making business. Also? I hate you.
Somewhere under there is that cake. Er, all those cakes. Now it's time to very gently start shaping and smoothing the fondant over the cake.
Be careful cutting away at the fondant. Just like with the cake – you will have lots of scraps of fondant. But you don't want to cut too much because 'piecing' fondant is not as fun as it sounds and doesn't always look seamless. So cut a little, tuck, cut a little more. Lather, rinse, repeat. Except that rinse part — fondant HATES water. Good to know. (Tip: Never refrigerate fondant or a fondant covered cake.)
THIS is when you can add dowels (see Michael's baking aisle) or kabob skewers for stability if necessary. Make sure they're cut to fall just-below the heighth of cake so they don't show.)
Two pounds of black fondant. This time, two pounds was more than enough as I was just using the black for decorative pieces. Gloves would have been a bright idea, however.
If you aren't artistic (I am NOT) then this is where your print-out comes in handy. Use it to mimic when attempting to cut-out your accent pieces for your cake.
I used my Wilton tools to cut out my accent pieces however you can also use a toothpick or kabob skewer. Tip: Dip your cutting tool in our beloved cornstarch first so that it does not stick to the fondant as you are cutting.
To adhere fondant to fondant, all you will need is water. AND ONLY A TINY BIT! (Remember: fondant hates water – however it does act as a glue.) I used the cornstarch cap to put a tiny bit of water in it and used my finger to 'paint' the backside of the eye with just a little water. (You don't want it to drip.)
I gently pressed the eye on the cake, holding it still for a few seconds, careful not to move it (black fondant runs and leaves color on the white fondant, I learned) before letting go. Tip: Don't press hard – you will change the shape of the very pliable fondant you're adhering.
Once my fondant accents were added, I used a rolling Wilton tool to make a slight indent where I planned on piping the mouth. (A toothpick can do the same.)
Started piping along my self-made dotted lines, using barely-damp (fondant hates water!) Q-tips to quickly wipe up mistakes.
Attached mini Santa hat via toothpicks and ta-daa! done.
And enjoy.
You. I don't even know how to tell you just how proud I am of you. How much I love you. How much you rock.
You are the best kind of friend a person could ask for, the defender of the playground, Mr. Do-Good, an amazing chef, the best assistant, the peacekeeper, happy-go-lucky, gracious and kind, a brilliant artist, a hard worker and so easy to love.
Your smile – the one you were born with and has seemingly never left your face – is infectious and cathartic and it has brought me so much happiness.
You have brought us all so much happiness.
Today is your 7th birthday. I can't believe it. Just yesterday you were all chunky legs and round cheeks and dimples. I hope you never lose those dimples.
You have grown up so much lately and I'm very proud of the little man you've become. While I hate to see the baby version of you disappear so quickly, I love watching you come into your own.
You're an amazing kid who is going to do amazing things. You already have.
Happy birthday dude!
I love you.
{Mom}
